Layla’s POV
I sat on that crate in the storage room, my face wet with tears, and I couldn't speak. My mouth opened but nothing came out. No words. No excuses. Nothing.
Jax stood in the doorway, his body rigid, his eyes burning holes through me. I had never seen him look at me like that. Like I was a stranger. Like I was nothing.
"Who is he?" he asked again. His voice was low and dangerous, the kind of voice that made men step back.
I shook my head. "Jax, please—"
"Who is he, Layla?"
"His name is Colt. He came to the bar a few times. He... he gave me his number."
Jax's jaw tightened. "And you called him."
It wasn't a question. He already knew.
I nodded. A small, shameful nod.
"How long?"
"Weeks. Maybe a month." Tears streamed down my face. "But nothing happened. Not really. We j
